After the spring day they had enjoyed, the falling
night brought back the impression of winter, and they
returned to dine before their fire, which was flaming
with new branches. It was their last meal together;
but they had some hours yet, and were not saddened.
After dinner, they recovered the sweet impression
of spring again, out on the Pors-Even road; for the
air was calm, almost genial, and the twilight still
lingered over the land.
They went to see the family—for Yann to
bid good-bye—and returned early, as they
wished to rise with break of day.
The next morning the quay of Paimpol was crowded with
people. The departures for Iceland had begun
the day before, and with each tide there was a fresh
fleet off. On this particular morning, fifteen
vessels were to start with the Leopoldine,
and the wives or mothers of the sailors were all present
at the getting under sail.
Gaud, who was now the wife of an Icelander, was much
surprised to find herself among them all, and brought
thither for the same fateful purpose. Her position
seemed to have become so intensified within the last
few days, that she had barely had time to realize things
as they were; gliding irresistibly down an incline,
she had arrived at this inexorable conclusion that
she must bear up for the present, and do as the others
did, who were accustomed to it.
She never before had been present at these farewells;
hence all was new to her. Among these women was
none like her, and she felt her difference and isolation.
Her past life, as a lady, was still remembered, and
caused her to be set aside as one apart.
The weather had remained fine on this parting-day;
but out at sea a heavy swell came from the west, foretelling
wind, and the sea, lying in wait for these new adventurers,
burst its crests afar.
Around Gaud stood many good-looking wives like her,
and touching, with their eyes big with tears; others
were thoughtless and lively; these had no heart or
were not in love. Old women, threatened nearly
by death, wept as they clung to their sons; sweethearts
kissed each other; half-maudlin sailors sang to cheer
themselves up, while others went on board with gloomy
looks as to their execution.
Many sad incidents could be marked; there were poor
luckless fellows who had signed their contracts unconsciously,
when in liquor in the grog-shop, and they had to be
dragged on board by force; their own wives helping
the gendarmes. Others, noted for their great strength,
had been drugged in drink beforehand, and were carried
like corpses on stretchers, and flung down in the
forecastles.
Gaud was frightened by all this; what companions were
these for her Yann? and what a fearful thing was this
Iceland, to inspire men with such terror of it?
Yet there were sailors who smiled, and were happy;
who, doubtless, like Yann, loved the untrammelled
life and hard fishing work; those were the sound,
able seamen, who had fine noble countenances; if they
were unmarried they went off recklessly, merely casting
a last look on the lasses; and if they were married,
they kissed their wives and little ones, with fervent
sadness and deep hopefulness as to returning home all
the richer.
